Home again, and home with quite a festival air about _it_ in honour of
your return. Flowers in every corner, silver candelabra on the dining-
table, favourite dishes for every course, a fire in one's bedroom,
chocolates lying ready at every turn--it was all most grateful and
soothing! Dreda sunned herself in the atmosphere of tenderness and
approval, and though no one referred in words to her disappointment, she
knew that it was an underlying thought in every mind, and her sore heart
was soothed afresh by each new instance of kindliness and care. The
first evening was spent according to good old-fashioned custom, sitting
round the schoolroom fire, brothers and sisters together, talking over
the events of the term, and comparing exploits and adventures. In the
dim firelight Dreda edged close to Gurth's side and slipped her hand
through his arm; and, wonder of wonders! instead of pushing her away,
Gurth gave it a quick little grip, and leant his broad shoulder against
hers in response. The boys were on their best behaviour, amiable and
conciliatory, without a hint of the overbearing condescension which was
apt to mark the end of the holidays. If there was a blot on the general
harmony it was to be found in the air of detachment with which Rowena
took part in the conversation. She was perfectly amiable, perfectly
sweet, conscientiously interested in the different exploits, yet one and
all felt disagreeably conscious that she was no longer one of their
number, and that her thoughts were continually straying off on
excursions of their own. Dreda remembered the parting promise of "Lots
to tell!" and looked forward to hair-brushing confidences later on, but
none were forthcoming. Rowena remained loving, preoccupied, and
inscrutable.
Alone with Maud, Dreda discussed the change in her sister's manner; but
Maud's explanation, though verbose, was hardly enlightening.
"She's nineteen. She'll be twenty on the twenty-first of October next.
She's got a train to her last new dress. And then there's teaching
me... She orders me about as if she were a hundred, but lately she's
grown moony. If I keep quite still and ask no questions she begins
staring, and stares and stares and smiles to herself. So silly! But it
passes the time. When the clock strikes she gives such a jump! I'm not
getting on a bit; but I'm glad, because then I shall go to school. She
takes no interest in me. I did the same exercises four times over and
she never knew, and when I told mother she said, `Poor darling!' I
thought she meant me, but she meant Rowena. Well, if you grow up, you
grow up, but you needn't be silly!"
Three afternoons after Dreda's return home a sharp rat-tat sounded at
the door, and Maud, flattening her nose against the window, made one of
her characteristic announcements.
"Mr Seton's horse. He's got on his new breeches!"
Dreda gave a glad exclamation.
"Mr Seton! Already! The dear thing! How did he know I was home?"
There was a short, tense pause, while Mrs Saxon and Rowena kept their
eyes glued to the ground. A sensitive hearer would have felt that pause
significant, but Dreda was too self-engrossed to be sensitive; she never
doubted that Guy Seton's object in calling was to welcome herself on her
return from school, and her first words informed him of the fact.
"Oh, Mr Seton, it _is_ nice of you to come so soon! Have you got the
horse yet? It's lovely of you to remember your promise."
"My--my--_what_ horse? What promise?"
"The horse for me--my mount! You said you would take me out riding--"
"Oh--er--yes! Did I? Delighted, I'm sure!" stammered Guy Seton
awkwardly. He looked bigger and stronger and handsomer than ever, but
even Dreda could not delude herself that he looked "delighted" at that
moment. There had been an expression of blankest surprise upon his face
as she had stepped forward to greet him, as if he had been unprepared
for her presence, and he had flushed uncomfortably at being reminded of
his promise. Dreda stood looking on somewhat blankly while he greeted
the other occupants of the room--Mrs Saxon with punctilious politeness,
Maud with a smile and a jest, Rowena in silence with a short grip of the
hand. Why did he not speak to Rowena? Were they still at cross
purposes as on the occasion of their first meeting? Dreda watched with
curious eyes and felt confirmed in her suspicion, for Rowena stitched
steadily at her embroidery, and Guy Seton never turned as much as a
glance in her direction. It was true that on one occasion when she
required her scissors he had pounced upon them as they lay on the table,
and handed them to her before she had had time to reach them herself;
but instead of forming the beginning of a conversation, as such an
action should naturally have done, they both appeared overcome with
embarrassment, and ignored each other's presence more persistently than
before.
A quarter of an hour passed in a desultory and broken conversation, in
which each member of the party seemed to continue his or her own train
of thought, with little or no attention to the preceding remarks. As,
for example:
Guy Seton: "It's such a ripping day. I thought I could ride over and
see how you all were."
Maud: "Mr Morris dropped his spectacles in the stable when he was
feeding his new mare. He heard something grind, so he thought she had
eaten them by mistake. He sent off for a vet., and he gave her things
and charged a guinea, and all the while they were on the dressing-table
in his room."
Dreda: "I'm always losing things! There's been a perfect fate against
me at school this term. It's not my fault, for I have grown hideously
careful, and they all turn up again in time, but it's most wearing for
your nerves!"
Mrs Saxon: "I met your mother in the village on Thursday, Mr Seton. I
was glad to see her looking so well."
Guy Seton: "This brisk weather braces people up. There's a meet at
Newstead Market Square on Monday at eleven. Ought to be a good run."
Maud: "Mr Morris's mare cost eighty pounds. Their coachman told our
gardener. He said he thought she was gone for sure when the eyeglasses
were missing. They've got a gold rim."
Dreda: "People always lose glasses. Flora Mason wears them at school.
She draws most beautifully. She had caricatures of all the mistresses
inside an atlas. She put them on the back of Balkan States because no
one ever looks at them; but there was an earthquake or something, and
The Duck turned them up. As a punishment, she made Flora stand up
before all the class and draw a copy of her portrait on the board.
Flora kept trying to make it pretty, and she said:--
"`Look at your copy, please, Flora; the nose goes to a point, and is
_inches_ larger!' Flora was _purple_ with embarrassment, and so were we
all."
Guy Seton: "I was wondering if you would care to follow with us on
Monday, Miss Saxon? We'd take good care of you. My cousin is a very
careful rider, and you need not be at all nervous of being led into
awkward places. We could turn back as soon as you were tired."
Dreda's gasp of dismay sounded clearly through the room, but Guy Seton
was apparently deaf to the sound. Rowena had raised her head from her
embroidery, revealing a face of almost startling beauty--cheeks as pink
as a wild rose, eyes deeply, darkly blue, lips curving into the sweetest
and shyest of smiles.
"Thank you so much. I should love to go. I should not be at all
afraid."
"That's settled, then!" cried Mr Seton, and breathed a sigh of relief.
The air of restraint which he had worn since entering the room gave
place to his usual genial, happy manner. He turned to Dreda, questioned
her about her work and games, joked and teased, recalled his own
experiences, was everything that was kind and friendly, but never a word
did he say about the promised "mount"--not a hint that she also might
like to attend the meet! Verily it was a world of grief and
disappointment.
Gurth opined that it was a "beastly fag" having no horses, but saw no
reason why the younger members of the party should not follow on
bicycles. Dreda protested haughtily that if she could not go properly
she would not go at all; but when the day of the meet arrived and she
saw the little party complacently preparing to start, pride gave way
before the thought of a long, dull day alone; she rushed to get ready,
and pedalled down the drive looking her old complacent self.
Rowena led the cavalcade on Mr Seton's brown hunter, with her fair
locks coiled tightly at the back and her hat pressed down on her
forehead. She was not quite so pretty, perhaps, as in ordinary attire,
but she looked delightfully trim and business-like, and her young
brothers and sisters were proud of her and made favourable comparisons
between her and the other lady riders assembled in the square. It was a
picturesque sight to see the motley collection of vehicles drawn up by
the kerbstones, the riders pacing to and fro, greeting fresh arrivals,
who kept trotting in from every direction, the pink coats of the men
making welcome touches of colour, and finally the appearance of the
hounds themselves, preceded by the huntsmen in their velvet caps and
smart white breeches.
A long table was laid out in front of the village inn, on which were set
refreshments for those who had driven from a distance. The Saxon
quartette strolled up and down, wheeling their bicycles as they went,
exchanging greetings with acquaintances, and quizzing the peculiarities
of strangers, after the merciless fashion of youth. It was just as they
reached the farthest corner of the square, and were about to turn back,
that Dreda's glance came into contact with a pair of eyes fixed upon her
with a coldly antagonistic gaze with which she was painfully familiar.
Norah! By all that was inexplicable, Norah West herself, standing
calmly in the midst of Newstead Market Square, more than a hundred miles
distant from her home, to which she had travelled a short week before!
Dreda gazed back in stupefied amazement, and even as she looked a second
figure detached itself from the crowd and advanced towards her.
"Dreda! I didn't expect to meet you here. I was going to write!"
"Susan! What is Norah doing with you? Don't tell me you have asked her
to _stay_!"
"I didn't--but she _is_ here, all the same. Her brother came home ill
from school, and the others had all to be sent off at once in case it
was something infectious. She telegraphed to know if she might come to
us."
"Like her cheek!"
"Oh, Dreda, it was horrid for her, too. Just think if you missed your
holidays at home! And she had often invited me there."
"Oh, of course, she adores you, so you enjoy having her company. Don't
let me interfere! It's delightful that you are so well entertained. I
congratulate you, I'm sure."
Susan's lips quivered. Her face was pinched by the chill wind, which
gave increased pathos to her look.
"Dreda, I always tell you the truth; it's horrid of me--but I'm _not_
glad! I didn't want her one bit. I thought you and I would be often
together, and now that she is here that can't be, I'm afraid. But--poor
Norah! None of the girls like her very much; there were so few places
she could go to, and just because she isn't--isn't _quite_ what one
would wish, there is all the more reason why one should be nice to her.
You remember what you said yourself."
"What did I say?"
"It wasn't about Norah exactly, but one day we were talking about people
we didn't like, and you said the best way was to be perfectly sweet
oneself, and to behave always as if we loved them, and expected only
good things from them, and so elevate them in spite of themselves. I
thought it was such a beautiful idea. I've never forgotten it, and now
I'm trying to put _it_ into practice."
"Oh-h!" exclaimed Dreda blankly. She herself had forgotten her fine
sentiments almost as soon as they were uttered, and was not pleased to
be reminded of them at the moment. "Oh-h! Well, if you want to
experiment, you must; but I do think it's a little inconsiderate to
choose Norah as your subject, and in the Christmas holidays, too! Where
do I come in, please? Really, Susan, you are too appallingly
inconsiderate!"
Susan smiled her sweet, illuminating little smile.
"I know I am; dear; but be patient with me, please, because I'm
disappointed, too, and you'd have done the same yourself if you'd been
in my place. You may rage and storm, but you _never_ refuse to do a
good turn! I'll keep Norah out of your way!"
For this morning at least the promise could not be kept; for, once
having joined forces, it was difficult to separate again, and throughout
the exciting chase which followed Norah made herself so agreeable that
Harold and Gurth pronounced her "a ripping girl, worth a dozen of that
mumpy little Susan Webster."
"Now they'll want her asked over on every occasion. We shall be
_saturated_ with Norah! Miserable wretch that I am! Misfortunes dog my
footsteps!" sighed Dreda to herself.